


Water Babies

by bloodyfandom



Series: Dark Elements [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Death, Child Murder, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyfandom/pseuds/bloodyfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A low rumble of thunder draws his gaze towards the window and he glances at his watch. It’s time to face another day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storm Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: AU, angst. Language. The author is EVIL.  
> Author's Notes: Dark Elements is a five chapter series with multiple parts in each chapter. If the title of the series wasn't a good hint, this will be a very dark series of fic. I will post warnings but don't get too invested if you aren't ready to read about murder, non-con and torture. Unbeta-ed.  
> So here's the first part of Water Babies, just a very short little prelude. This is turning out to be a lot harder for me to write than I thought (because of the subject matter). :/ I think I have to apologise in advance.

The tree in the front yard had been split down the middle. Gibbs stands on the porch staring at it in the soggy morning light, water dripping down from the awning. It’s been several weeks since that last bad storm, since the first time he and Tony had kissed. He’s been steadily hacking away at the downed branches, often with Tony’s help, but he’ll have to buy a new chainsaw to deal with the trunk. He scratches his chin and drains his coffee cup, heading back in for a refill.

 

Not that he’d been working very diligently on his yard. He’d been spending most of his evenings in the basement making Abby a new coffin to sleep in – she had found a temporary apartment and everyone was helping her replace what she’d lost. The rest of the time had seen him in bed with Tony. Or on the couch. Or pressed up against the boat. There’s been a great deal of kissing which Gibbs hasn’t even tried to argue with. Tony seems intent on tasting every centimeter of his mouth, learning the pattern of his molars and memorizing the ridges of his palate.

 

That morning Tony had tilted his chin up and kissed him sweetly until the alarm clock had drawn them apart. He’d pulled away slowly, licking his lips and smiling softly, leaving Gibbs with a strange, half-forgotten feeling in the pit of his stomach. In the bathroom Gibbs had stood under the hot spray of the shower for ten minutes too long but otherwise felt better than he had in weeks – if he’s honest with himself, better than he’s felt in months, maybe years. Then Tony had left early while Gibbs had sat in his kitchen, drinking coffee and trying to figure out how he got to this place.

 

A low rumble of thunder draws his gaze towards the window and he glances at his watch.

 

It’s time to face another day.

 

He washes his cup, grabs his keys, his phone, and walks out the door just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. He gets a text from Tony at a light - an address and the words “double homicide”.

 

He turns towards the highway and flips on his wipers as the rain starts coming down harder.


	2. Dark Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has no words but he understands what she wants to say.
> 
> Find who did this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the hardest thing I've ever written (for the subject matter). Just a warning, this is probably going to be very disturbing for a lot of people.

The rain is heavy, the last angry outpouring of a hurricane that had gone up the seaboard. His pant legs are soaked by the time he gets to the doorway, the umbrella doing little to protect him. Gibbs shakes himself off, feeling like a wet dog, and is just distracted enough to miss the look on McGee’s face when he steps inside.

 

“Boss…” McGee begins.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Then Tony is in front of him, looking overly concerned and Gibbs frowns.

 

“Gibbs...”

 

“What?” Gibbs snaps, trying to hide his worry with annoyance.

 

That’s when he hears the hysterical woman. She’s off to the left and Ducky’s with her, Ziva standing awkwardly to the side.

 

Ducky’s with her, which is odd - off. Ducky should be with the bodies.

 

“DiNozzo, you got the call, what’s going on?” Gibbs asks evenly.

 

“Husband is in Afghanistan, Marine Sergeant Chris MacLachlan. That’s his wife, Vanessa and um…” Tony visibly wars with himself for a second, and then looks Gibbs squarely in the eye, “the victims are their two daughters, Alexis, 6 months and Alela, 2 years. She woke up this morning and found them in their beds.”

 

Gibbs stops gritting his teeth long enough to ask the next question.

 

“How bad is it?”

 

For a second Tony almost seems like he won’t be able to answer, he flinches slightly and glances away, swallowing heavily.

 

“Really bad, Gibbs.”

 

Gibbs nods.

 

“Their um…throats were slit.”

 

It takes Gibbs a minute to unclench his fists, to get his voice box to cooperate and his mouth to move.

 

“Show me.”

 

Tony seems like he wants to argue but only nods. He stays close, not quite but almost touching and Gibbs lets him.

 

It’s a grisly sight. Their cribs and pajamas are soaked in blood. Splatter on the wall.

 

No matter how much he braced himself for it, the vision in front of him still sucks the air out of Gibbs’ lungs. He stares until Tony steps in front of him, blocking the gruesome scene with his body and his concerned eyes.

 

“We’ll process the scene, Boss.”

 

“I’ll go talk to Mrs. MacLachlan,” Gibbs says roughly.

 

“Ziva’s…”

 

“Terrible with victims. I’ll do it.”

 

Gibbs pushes her off towards the scene and nods to Ducky who gently pulls away from the woman.

 

“Vanessa?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“This is Agent Gibbs, he’s going to ask you a few questions, my dear.”

 

“Alright,” she sniffles.

 

The look on Ducky’s face is somber and Gibbs pats his shoulder as he moves off to take care of the bodies.

 

“Vanessa, would you rather talk here or down at headquarters?”

 

“I…I want to be here. Chris is coming back and I have to be here when he comes home.”

 

She’s obviously still in shock – her husband wouldn’t be home for another day, maybe two – but Gibbs doesn’t say anything.

 

“Ok…Vanessa, do you remember seeing anyone unusual hanging around?”

 

“No.”

 

“Think back over the last few weeks. You don’t remember seeing anyone who seemed out of place? Maybe a car you didn’t recognize?”

 

She shakes her head, sleep tangled hair clinging to her wet cheeks.

 

“What do you remember from last night?”

 

“I…I locked all the doors and I went to tuck the…the girls into bed. I read them Goodnight Moon and…I kissed them. Alexis didn’t wake up last night…I should have known something was wrong because she didn’t wake up for her feeding at 2. I just…I laid there and thought she was just going to sleep through for once. I just went back to bed…”

 

Vanessa bursts into tears again and curls in on herself, sobbing. Gibbs pats her back and presses his lips together in a thin line.

 

This was a nightmare. Gibbs’ eyes drift back over to the girls’ bedroom, the image of their blood soaked little bodies emblazoned on his brain. Vanessa is gripping his sleeve and he lays his hand over top of hers’.

 

“Who would do this?” she asks.

 

“We don’t know yet.”

 

Vanessa grabs his hand and grips it fiercely, voice breaking as she asks, “ _Why_?”

 

“We’re going to find out,” Gibbs says lowly, voice full of menacing promise.

 

She nods, eyes unfocused, not letting go of him.

 

“I didn’t…I couldn’t go in there,” she breathes, “I saw the blood and I called the police but I couldn’t go in there…what if I could have…”

 

“There was nothing you could have done,” he says firmly.

 

“How do you know?” she asks plaintively.

 

“It was over quickly,” Gibbs takes a deep breath, “They didn’t feel any pain.”

 

Vanessa’s grip on his hand becomes painful but he doesn’t pull away.

 

“I…I should go see…”

 

“You don’t want to remember them that way,” he assures her, “remember them how they were.”

 

A local LEO comes in and tells them that Vanessa’s mother is there. Gibbs helps her grab some things from her bedroom and guides her outside, handing her his card.

 

“If you think of anything call me. We’ll be in touch.”

 

She grips his hand again; red-rimmed eyes boring into his. She has no words but he understands what she wants to say.

 

_Find who did this_.

 

He nods once, mouth set in a grim line and gaze fierce.

 

She heaves out another soft, broken breath, eyes falling to the ground as if all the life had been sucked out of her, and her mother leads her away. Gibbs watches her for only a moment before turning towards the lingering crowd, asking around with the neighbors, subtly eyeing the on-lookers to see if anyone is acting suspicious. By the time he’s finished with that his team has wrapped up with the scene, Ducky is long gone with the bodies and Gibbs feels a little less suffocated.

 

“Hey, Boss,” Tony breathes, sliding into the passenger seat.

 

“You aren’t riding back with McGee and Ziva?”

 

“Ziva is angry and McGee needs to cry, so I’m giving them space,” Tony smiles grimly.

 

“Maybe I need space too.”

 

Tony turns to look out the window and says nothing further. Gibbs shakes his head and starts the car, driving far more carefully on the slick roads than he would usually bother with.

 

“Find anything?” he finally asks.

 

“Not sure yet,” Tony admits, “looks like whoever it was pried open the kid’s bedroom window, possibly with a crowbar. We didn’t find any fingerprints but there was a boot print outside the window in a raised garden bed that the overhang protected from the rain. We managed to photograph it before the downpour really set in but who knows what other evidence we lost in the storm.”

 

Tony isn’t looking at him, eyes still out the window so the question catches Gibbs a little off guard.

 

“You ok, Boss?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I kind of don’t believe you.”

 

“I want this shit stain in cuffs before the week’s out, DiNozzo. You can shrink my head after that.”

 

“Gonna hold you to that, Boss.”

 

Gibbs reaches over and smacks Tony upside the head.

 

Sighing softly, Tony nods and says nothing further.

 

–

 

He can't blame them for being quiet. He can't be angry with them for being unnerved and slightly sick to the stomach about the whole thing, because he is too. But he's never _missed_ the noise quite so much as he does right in this moment. Gibbs glances up at his team and wishes, down to the core of him, that Tony would crack an inappropriate joke, or McGee would start rambling off some technobabble or that Ziva would say something condescending in that teasing tone that always went straight up Tony's back.

 

Anything, anything at all, would be better than this damnable silence that leaves him with nothing but the thoughts in his head. The grating tone of his phone ringing is the most blissful noise he's ever heard and Gibbs is only barely able to stop himself from sounding grateful when he barks his name into the receiver.

 

“ _Jethro, I think you should come down here..._ ” Ducky edges hesitantly, obviously not really wanting Gibbs to come down at all.

 

Glancing up at Tony, Gibbs nods at the unasked question in the other man's eyes.

 

“Be right down, Duck,” he says, tone more clipped than usual.

 

Tony's halfway out of his chair before Gibbs can even finish snapping, “DiNozzo! With me!”.

 

In the elevator Tony is close but not overwhelmingly so. Gibbs wants to lean against him, just for a minute, but manages to keep himself ramrod straight until they're striding into Autopsy and pointedly not looking too carefully at the small body on the table.

 

Ducky gives them the barest nod of acknowledgment and hands Gibbs the beginnings of a report. Gibbs shoots him a slightly confused look. Ducky usually didn't bother calling them down until he was done or very nearly done but from the looks of it he'd barely even started.

 

“It's too soon to give you a definitive cause of death,” Ducky says, voice just slightly too even and controlled, as if having read Gibbs' mind, “but little Alela, I am quite certain, did not die from having her throat cut.”

 

“What?” Gibbs snaps, too shocked to stop himself.

 

“It would appear she died from pulmonary edema. There was a great deal of fluid on her lungs. Though she passed only moments, I would estimate, before her throat was cut. She still bled a great deal...”

 

“The other girl?” Tony interjects.

 

“There was some fluid on her lungs as well, but...” Ducky pauses, swallowing thickly, “she was obviously...she thrashed a good deal. There was more blood loss.”

 

Ducky clears his throat and goes over to some samples, checking his labels. Tony glances over at Gibbs and realizes the other man is staring at the body now, gaze intensely focused, brow furrowed, mouth set in a firm line.

 

“Boss?” Tony questions lowly.

 

For a moment Gibbs looks like he's struggling to form words, or maybe he's wrestling his emotions, like he's fighting them down in his throat but Tony thinks it looks like Gibbs is maybe losing. He reaches out but Gibbs shakes his head fiercely, sharply, like a knife. Ducky's moved farther away, though, so Tony ignores him. He grips Gibbs' arm, just above the elbow, and gives Gibbs whatever strength he's got to offer. Gibbs looks up at him then, something broken and overwhelming in his gaze. Tony swallows – swallows down the fear, the uncertainty, the urge to run in the opposite direction. He just meets Gibbs' gaze, gives him a sad smile, and another squeeze on the arm.

 

_I've got you_.

 

Gibbs nods and takes a deep breath, reaching up and giving Tony's hand a brief pat before pulling back.

 

“So what would cause pulmonary edema, Ducky?” Gibbs asks, voice just a little thicker than usual.

 

Glancing over his shoulder, Ducky sets down the samples he was labeling and sighs.

 

“Well, the liquid was most certainly water and not bodily fluids, like blood or lymph. So my best guess would be a near drowning incident,” Ducky looks up at them, brow furrowed, “What's unusual about that is there's no bruising. Even with a small child, forcing them to stay underwater would leave bruises somewhere...”

 

“The near drowning...finding fluid in both their lungs,” Tony frowns, “that couldn't just have been an accident?”

 

“In one child, perhaps...not in both. Not considering...” Ducky gestures towards the body on the table.

 

“It's unlikely,” Tony looks away, “Right.”

Gibbs has finally approached the table. He takes one, small hand – light brown, tiny, no scars or imperfections – and holds it in his own. He touches the curls on her head, dark and short. He thinks about Mrs. MacLachlan, her husband, the future that their perp has robbed them of...

 

“Gibbs?” Tony asks softly, voice low and uncertain.

 

Something clicks back into place in his brain. Gibbs straightens, almost imperceptibly. They've got to question the mother again.

 

“Sign a car out, we're going to talk to Mrs. MacLachlan.”

 

“What?” Tony frowns.

 

“ _Near drowning incident_? Accident or not, that's something a mother should know about,” Gibbs bites out, stalking out of the room.

 

_There he is_ , Tony thinks, _Mr. Second-B-is-for-Bastard_.

 

Heading downstairs to check a car out of the motor pool, Tony whispers, “Where've you been?”


	3. Big Black Rain, Little Blue River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loud crack of lightning and the immediate rumble of thunder makes them all start.
> 
> “I was gonna suggest y'all stay for a bit,” Ingalls sighs, “but it looks like the rain beat me to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of really disturbing violence in this one. It's actually been finished for a while now but I couldn't bring myself to look it over until this past week.
> 
> I am putting a disclaimer on this one. I did not grow up in small town America (I did not grow up in America at all) so everything I know is from my Wife, books, and television. I did a bit of research for this one but this is fiction so I don't think it's a perfect representation (I KNOW it's not).
> 
> If you want warnings, skip to the notes at the bottom.

It's been drizzling for the last two hours and Tony's having trouble not glancing over at Gibbs. With the Bastard firmly back in place he's afraid to touch, to say anything, to try and offer the comfort he's become used to giving.

 

“Try the mother again,” Gibbs grumbles, slowing down fractionally as the rain gets heavier.

 

“I left four messages...”

 

“Try her _again_ ,” Gibbs snaps.

 

Tony turns slightly in his seat, “Gibbs...”

 

“That wasn't a _request_ , DiNozzo!”

 

“She's a sixty-something year old woman who just lost two grandkids. If she didn't pick up the first four times, she's probably not going to pick up the fifth time. _If_ she's even home to pick up the phone.”

 

Sucking in a long, slow breath, Gibbs turns his rage down to a simmer, but the question still comes out a snarl, “You didn't get a cell?”

 

“She doesn't have one,” Tony replies, voice calm and even, “I tried Vanessa MacLachlan's cell three times, but I keep getting the same response – this phone is out of its service area.”

 

Gibbs opens his mouth but Tony sighs heavily.

 

“We'll be there in twenty minutes, Boss. They'll be there or they won't.”

 

“You take up Buddhism while I wasn't looking?” Gibbs grumbles, “When the hell did you get so zen?”

 

Tony grins, “I've been watching videos on YouTube.”

 

Gibbs snorts softly, glancing at Tony out of the corner of his eye.

 

_Ten points for DiNozzo_ , Tony thinks. 

 

There's a little amusement at the edges of Gibbs' mouth, a little less raging Bastard. He'll probably hit the boiling point again once they reach the city limit but Tony hopes he can keep Gibbs from careening off the proverbial cliff. He's worried about how off kilter Gibbs has been, how his moods have been an out of control roller coaster, how it's very, very obvious that Gibbs has been suffering from some fairly bad depression for at least the past year but won't acknowledge it, much less seek help. It gives a sharpness to Gibbs' rage that was never there before.

 

Tony tries to keep Gibbs distracted which seems to both frustrate and relieve the other man in equal parts. The middle of nowhere town where Vanessa MacLachlan's mother, Mrs. Reese, lives has exactly one stoplight in the center, with a post office in the general store and hitching posts lining main street. A young girl is riding down the road as they pull in. She has a wary eye on the dark sky, a sack of feed strapped to the saddle, and a backpack on her back. Gibbs feels a twinge, some strange combination between fear and protectiveness, but then smirks when he spots the knife tucked into the top of her boot.

 

She's not Kelly, but in a way, they all are.

 

Mrs. Reese doesn't live in town, but rather, about two miles outside of it. The farmland is broken up by woods and homestead - the road gets bumpy and the rain starts falling softly, a gentle whisper on the rooftop. Mrs. Reese is home, sitting on her porch, talking to a younger man in uniform. Tony sits up straight, brow furrowed, assessing the area – this can't be a good sign. The closer they get the more fidgety Tony becomes. They can see Mrs. Reese is crying from this distance, handkerchief in hand.

 

“Boss...”

 

“I know,” Gibbs grunts, pulling into the driveway.

 

Mrs. Reese looks up at them with a glimmer of hope in her eyes and Tony swallows hard, glancing at Gibbs before striding ahead.

 

“Mrs. Reese?” he confirms, holding out his hand.

 

“Yes,” she nods, taking Tony's hand and shaking it.

 

“We're from NCIS, I'm Special Agent DiNozzo and this is my boss, Special Agent Gibbs, we're here to speak to your daughter.”

 

He watches her face fall, can almost feel Gibbs' tension behind him.

 

“I'm sorry...my daughter went for a walk and never...she hasn't come home yet.”

 

The man in uniform steps forward, extending a hand to Gibbs, “I'm Deputy Ingalls. Considering recent events, we've organized a search party and we've got every person available out looking for her.”

 

With a gentle smile, Deputy Ingalls turns to Mrs. Reese and lays a hand on her shoulder.

 

“You rest easy, Laura. Reverend Lee said he'd be heading over with his missus in a bit. We'll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

 

She nods and turns to stare back out at the road, eyes flitting back and forth as she watches for her daughter's return. Ingalls herds Tony and Gibbs off the porch and back out to the drive.

 

“If y'all follow me, we'll head to the station, I'll fill you in on what's going on.”

 

The rain's getting heavier, so neither man argues. They follow Ingalls back into town and into the tiny Sheriff's office. With the exception of a drunk sleeping it off in a holding cell, and a young officer at a desk fielding phone calls, the building is empty. Ingalls drops heavily into the chair at his desk, tossing his hat on top of a stack of papers and heaving out a deep sigh. He gestures for them to sit and leans back, rubbing at his eyes. He looks tired and more than a little sad.

 

“Vanessa left for a walk as soon as she and her mother got home. Laura wasn't particularly worried until she noticed Vanessa had left her phone and her wedding ring on the bedside table. She called up Sheriff Jiminez and we started looking for her straight off. That was about six hours ago. It takes at least three hours to walk to the next town over, so we think she might've hitched. Assuming she went of her own free will, which none of us are convinced of considering...considering what happened to the girls.”

 

A loud crack of lightning and the immediate rumble of thunder makes them all start.

 

“I was gonna suggest y'all stay for a bit,” Ingalls sighs, “but it looks like the rain beat me to it.”

 

Gibbs raises an eyebrow, “Anywhere we can hole up for the night?”

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Parton run a bed and breakfast at the other end of town. They'll put you up. Tell 'em, I sent you,” he nods, rising to shake their hands and send them on their way.

 

“Got a few questions for you before we go,” Gibbs says, not moving from his seat.

 

Deputy Ingalls blinks and nods, sitting back down, “Shoot.”

 

“The Reeses have any enemies?”

 

“Enemies? Hell no. Nicest people you ever met in your life. Everybody took to looking out for Laura after her husband Dan died in the Gulf War. Vanessa ran a little wild for a bit but most kids do, I guess. She never caused any trouble though. She got knocked up by Chris when he was fresh out of boot camp, they got married. I don't think you could find anybody for a hundred miles who'd say one bad word about that family.”

 

Gibbs leans forward slightly, “Chris MacLachlan a local boy?”

 

“Yeah, his folks have a little farm not too far from the Reese place,” Ingalls gestures.

 

“Where are they?”

 

“They were over at Laura's place earlier but they went to go pick Chris up from the airport. Told Laura they'd be right back over as soon as they'd fetched him.”

 

Tony sits up now, “Do _they_ have any enemies?”

 

Ingalls opens his mouth, obviously ready to say no, and then stops, shrugging.

 

“The Klan had it out for them for a bit but as far as I can tell we ran most of those sons of bitches out.”

 

“What do you mean, _ran them out_?” Tony frowns, glancing at Gibbs who gives a minute shrug.

 

“I mean ran 'em out. We had a few folks, maybe a family or so on the outskirts, they were holding to that kind of nonsense. We just...we made it real hard for 'em around here. Let's put it that way.”

 

“Define _real hard_ ,” Gibbs grinds out impatiently.

 

Ingalls shifts in his seat, touches his paperwork, glances towards the window. He sighs and shrugs, finally opening his mouth, “Most folks around here are farmers, even the smaller homesteads do some kind of farming. Unless you're in town, anyways. But everything that leaves town for the city goes through Marshall Jones at the general store. He doesn't make a big deal out of it and you might not know it to look at him but his daddy was black and Mattaponi, native tribe around these parts. So when those Klan folks started giving the MacLachlan's trouble, he stopped doing business with 'em. Then other folks in town stopped selling to 'em, buying from 'em... They couldn't make a living so they left. Good riddance if you ask me.”

 

“We're going to need those names,” Gibbs says firmly.

 

Heaving out another sigh, Ingalls stares back at Gibbs a moment before nodding, “Alright. If you think it'll help.”

 

Tony scratches his thigh, frowning at the desk as Ingalls scribbles down information.

 

“How exactly did they harass the MacLachlans?”

 

Pausing, Ingalls looks up, locking eyes with Tony, “Burned a cross in the middle of their pasture. It was a dry Autumn. Caught some brush on fire, spread towards the house and the barn. Nobody got hurt but it was a close call. We couldn't prove anything or...”

 

He shakes his head and turns back to writing. Gibbs and Tony share a look. Gibbs' gut wasn't talking to him one way or the other but it seemed a little too much to swallow.

 

“I wrote my number on there too,” Ingalls says, handing the paper to Gibbs, “You need anything, call me.”

 

Gibbs hands Ingalls his card and nods his thanks, “You need us, we'll be at the Partons'.”

 

They shake hands with Ingalls and head out, running towards the car as the rain intensifies. Down the street they find the small bed and breakfast, charming even in the downpour, framed by two big oaks on either side and set back from the road slightly. Tony fishes out their umbrellas, Gibbs parks the car, and they brave the rain once more, pausing only a moment to grab their kits out of the trunk.

 

Inside, the front of the house is open with a sitting room to the left and a small office to the right. Straight ahead is a staircase and a hallway. Every available shelf is filled with kitschy knick knacks and every inch of wall space is covered in photos and country cute folk art. Mr. Parton startles slightly from where he's watching television, but gets up with a smile, shaking hands with both of them and gesturing towards a desk.

 

“How y'all doin'? Weather bring ya in?”

 

Gibbs shakes off his coat slightly on the foyer rug, wiping his boots on the door mat, “We're actually here investigating two murders, we'll be staying in town for a while. Deputy Ingalls said you might have a vacancy.”

 

Mr. Parton raises both of his eyebrows and stares at Gibbs, “This about Vanessa's little girls?”

 

Gibbs gives a short nod, “You know the Reeses?”

 

“Small town, everybody knows everybody else. Damn shame, those sweet little girls...godawful what happened to them. Just godawful. Anybody hear tell about Vanessa?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

Mr. Parton rubs a hand over his mouth and shakes his head, “Poor Laura. Christ, did they tell Chris, yet?”

 

Gibbs swallows and nods again, “His parents went to pick him up from the airport.”

 

Tony glances at Gibbs, wondering why he's being so forthcoming. He wonders if it's a small town thing and decides to hang back, hair plastered to his head as he drips onto the rug.

 

“Betty and Rick must be going to pieces,” Mr. Parton frowns, moving to the desk in the office, “Never seen two families suffer so much.”

 

“Heard about Laura's husband,” Gibbs shakes his head, pointing to a chair and sitting when Mr. Parton nods.

 

“Yeah, Vanessa was just a little thing when that happened. Betty and Rick lost their oldest son a few years back. Jim moved to New York and uh...well, he got mistaken for a fella that had just knocked over this convenient store or some such...cops shot him.”

 

That's when Tony recognizes what Gibbs is doing, as he watches him make a sympathetic face, posture open and unassuming as he lets the emotion bleed through his expression – he's interrogating the guy without really interrogating him.

 

The man is a genius.

 

“Tore 'em apart. That's about the time Chris joined the Marines,” Mr. Parton continues, “Laura was there for Betty and Rick. Vanessa was there for Chris.”

 

“Heard about the Willards and the Hendersons...how they were to the MacLachlans.”

 

Mr. Parton sighs, “You know, I can't say this town has always been the friendliest. Was a time being any color that wasn't white woulda got a body strung up. I'm old enough to remember that. Wish I could say I was always on the right side of that fight but my daddy was Klan when I was a boy. Was a time I'd have said to hell with...” he licks his lips, glancing up at them both and then hanging his head in shame, “to hell with those niggars. But Rick...my truck flipped out on a back road. Hit a deer and then a tree. Was a bad storm, we had a rough winter that year. Rick sent Betty for help, her belly all swolled up with Jim, and he stayed there with me.”

 

Mr. Parton nods to himself, licking his lips, “Stayed with me in that godawful bitter cold for three and half hours. Managed to cut me out of that seatbelt and stuck his body up next to mine for heat. Both of us got frostbit some. Coulda died out there. I told him to leave me, my kids were grown. Jim was their second, and their oldest, Sammi, she was only two...but he wouldn't go. Said it wasn't right to leave a body to die like that.”

 

They go quiet for a minute and Mr. Parton finally looks up.

 

“They didn't look to go changing anything around here but they did. Think I speak for the whole town when I say we're real glad things worked out this way.”

 

Gibbs thumbs at the corner of a book sitting on the desk in front, asking as if the answer isn't really all that important, “Heard tell that Marshall Jones is mixed, how come nobody gave him any trouble?”

 

Mr. Parton nods, still looking a little ashamed, “He passes for white. Just barely, mind you, but he does. Folks are a lot friendlier about it now than they used to be....”

 

Going quiet again, Mr. Parton turns to the books, swallowing thickly, “I only have one vacancy. Queen bed with a trundle underneath, should do you fine. How many days?”

 

“Probably just for tonight,” Gibbs says lowly, voice almost gentle, “What happened to Marshall Jones' father?”

 

Mr. Parton goes still, eyes flitting over the paper of the logbook as if he's finding an answer there.

 

“Klan strung him up,” he grinds out hoarsely, “1972. Just outside of town on the Henderson property.”

 

“Marshall Jones know that?” Gibbs asks simply.

 

“Yeah, he oughtta. He was there,” Mr. Parton's eyes land on Gibbs' hand where it rests on the desk, “So was I.”

 

His breathing is slightly labored now and Gibbs leans forward, an inch, just enough.

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Barely twenty. I was in the army, just finished bootcamp and I was getting shipped out in three more weeks. My daddy dragged me along. I didn't know what it was about at first, you know? Then I saw Mr. Jones and Marshall...Marshall was just cryin' and his daddy was tellin' him to be strong. To not let us see he was scared, we just fed off it, like animals. Mr. Henderson was there, Mr. Willard and his sons, my daddy...they strung up Mr. Jones and...I ran. I ran and Marshall followed,” hands trembling faintly, Mr. Parton heaves out a shaky breath, “I didn't know what else to do so I took him home to his mama....He was just fourteen.”

 

Tony imagines that boy, still practically a child, and suddenly needs the tactile comfort of Gibbs' touch. He grips the back of the chair and Gibbs, as if sensing him, leans back slightly, still staring straight ahead at Mr. Parton.

 

“Don't know why I...” Mr. Parton licks his lips, “Never told anybody that before. Not even Anne.”

 

_Because Gibbs is the best,_ Tony thinks, biting back a sad smile.

 

It's late and Tony can feel the tension in Gibbs' shoulders.

 

Tony swallows, steadying himself before he speaks, “I think we'd like to get settled in, Mr. Parton. Maybe find a hot meal.”

 

Nodding, Mr. Parton fishes out two keys and hands them over, gesturing up the stairs.

 

“You'll be the second room on the right, door with the deer on it. Anne'll have something ready in about an hour. She always makes too much anyway. Y'all let me know if you need anything.”

 

He goes back to the living room and sits heavily on the chair he'd been occupying when they'd come in. He seems older now, shoulders weighed down with invisible burden. They watch him for a moment in silence and then Gibbs grabs Tony's sleeve, pulling him towards the stairs.

 

As soon as they get into the room Gibbs collides with Tony, slamming him down on the bed and forcing his hands above his head. Tony is too shocked at first to resist  _or_ assist, so he just stares up at Gibbs with his mouth slack until he feels cuffs slipping around his wrists.

 

“ _No_.”

 

But Gibbs isn't really listening. He's too busy kissing Tony's mouth fiercely and ripping at his clothes.

 

“Gibbs... _Gibbs_...” Tony grinds out lowly, trying to struggle without moving too much. He'd rather not have Mr. or Mrs. Parton running up here to investigate the strange noises and find them like this.

 

Gibbs shifts, just enough, and Tony brings his knee up sharply, wincing in sympathy when Gibbs sucks in a sharp breath and collapses on top of him.

 

“Uncuff me, _now_.”

 

Breathing heavily, one hand on his crotch, Gibbs peers up at Tony with a look somewhere between murder and overwhelming shame. Tony figures that only Gibbs could look like he wants to apologize and kill you at the same time but he's a little too annoyed to laugh.

 

“Now, Gibbs.”

 

Nodding, Gibbs releases Tony and sits back, moving gingerly as Tony rubs his wrists.

 

“We've never really talked about it but I don't like being tied up,” Tony mutters, “Too many bad experiences.”

 

“Sorry,” Gibbs says, glancing over his shoulder at him.

 

“And you didn't even lock the door, Boss,” Tony smirks teasingly.

 

Gibbs' eyes flit up to the door, actually not even properly shut now that he thinks about it. He pushes it the rest of the way closed and locks it, wincing as he shifts, spreading his legs to give his sore privates a little breathing room.

 

Tony gestures and shrugs, “Sorry about killing your mood.”

 

An amused huff breaks past Gibbs' lips and he shakes his head, “I wasn't...I wasn't hard. I just...”

 

Nodding, Tony starts stripping down, “You threw me off. I didn't see that coming.”

 

Gibbs has been firmly looking anywhere except Tony but now his eyes come up, sharp blue sucking the air out of Tony's lungs.

 

“I am sorry, Tony.”

 

“I know,” Tony smiles – attempts to smile. His lips are pulling up at the edges but it feels more like a grimace than anything else.

 

Suddenly Gibbs seems to notice that Tony is naked and lying down on the bed, arms above his head as he grips the headboard. He's still fully clothed and not even sure he could get it up if he tried but he needs something. He needs Tony.

 

He practically stumbles to the bed, lowering himself and immediately taking the head of Tony's dick in his mouth, rolling the sharp taste around on his tongue. He wants to cut himself open, to bleed all the thoughts and feelings of the last two days out onto the bed, to mix it with Tony's sweat and cum, to bury it and forget it.

 

None of this should be anymore overwhelming than anything else that has happened to him, than anything else he's been witness to. He shouldn't feel this off kilter. He sucks Tony deep – he knows he's not very good at this yet but he also knows that Tony never complains about anything they do in bed.

 

Except getting tied up. That was a first.

 

Gibbs pulls back, listening to the noises Tony is making as he starts bobbing his head.

 

“Jethro...” Tony breathes, fingers unclenching, wanting to reach out.

 

Gibbs pulls back just enough to talk, Tony's now erect cock hard against Gibbs' cheek.

 

“Don't let go,” he growls.

 

Tony shakes his head quickly, acquiescing, once again resuming his grip, knuckles going white and mouth falling open as Gibbs goes down on him again.

 

Gibbs smoothes a hand up Tony's thigh, over his hip, hands possessively mapping the planes of his stomach, the soft hair on his lower abdomen tickling at Gibbs' fingers. He feels Tony's muscles tightening, fluttering under Gibbs' touch as he tumbles closer towards orgasm. Tony's breath hitches and he tries to choke out a warning but it comes out strangled as Gibbs sucks hard, the first salty splashes only urging him on.

 

He swallows Tony down, feels the splash as he cums and swallows it only because he can't think of where he could spit that wouldn't be embarrassing. He presses his face to Tony's stomach as he listens to the other man's breathing even out, his head rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Tony's hands finally let go, fingers aching as he reaches out, carding them through Gibbs' hair. He pulls Gibbs up but Gibbs shakes his head – he's still soft. Tony rolls his eyes and pulls Gibbs closer, settling the other man between his legs and kissing him breathless.

 

This was what he needed – more than the control, more than anything. Just the connection. He practically sags into it, Tony's thighs framing his hips, hands pressing him even closer.

 

Gibbs feels like he's shaking apart on the inside because there's an insistent voice inside screaming that there's no going back. He can't imagine living without Tony now – not sure he _can_ live without him. He can't imagine how he would be able to deal with any of this if Tony weren't here. And he's terrified because he can't afford to depend on anyone this much.

 

It never ends well.

 

Not for anyone.

 

They get dressed and Tony sprays Gibbs with some of the expensive cologne he keeps in his kit because he's got “manly sex smell” all over his clothes. Mrs. Parton made a roast and Tony makes happy noises as he savors every bite, making Mrs. Parton and Gibbs smirk for two very different reasons. Mr. Parton is quiet but no one questions it, though Mrs. Parton eyes him with concern every now and again.

 

Gibbs calls Ingalls for an update but there's been no word yet. Tony calls Ziva and McGee but they've had no breakthroughs either. Tony looks at Gibbs and shrugs, sliding a hand down his forearm and squeezing his hand.

 

In bed that night Tony presses into Gibbs' side and Gibbs threads his fingers into Tony's hair, pressing his face there and inhaling Tony's scent deeply. It's a sweet comfort that's laced with faint anxiety. When Tony kisses him though, just once, softly on the lips, all thoughts and extraneous feelings are muted. Gibbs' head hits the pillow and he falls asleep.

 

When he wakes up the next morning it's early.

 

4:30 early, which is too early even for him. Tony has rolled over though, curled in on himself on the opposite side of the bed. Gibbs knows Tony's a fairly light sleeper – if he tries to get close again, which is the only way he'll fall back asleep, Tony will wake up and stay awake. So instead Gibbs gets up and gets dressed. He quietly goes downstairs and takes a walk in the soggy moonlit countryside, letting his mind wander. He sees some dogwood, no bright white blooms this time of year, and knows it won't be long before the leaves start changing. It's been a long time since he's seen a flowering dogwood and he thinks maybe they should go camping come spring.

 

He pauses to ponder how he'd immediately included Tony in that thought. How 'me' and 'I' had become 'us' and 'we' so quickly and easily. Part of him worries that it's too easy and he'll forget to be careful.

 

The soft hush of water catches Gibbs attention and he turns towards it, brow furrowed. The moon is dipping closer to the horizon and the soft glow of sunrise is teasing the edges of the eastern night sky. It's hard to see but he moves towards the sound of rushing water, something in his gut telling him...go. Look.

 

When he'd lost Shannon and Kelly he'd thought about it after all. He'd thought about it for a long time, to be honest.

 

The river, there was a river, he remembered that but forgot the name.

 

The lights paint eerie patterns on the foliage and the water. Red and blue, red and blue, harsh in the semi-dark.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he answers it before it has the chance to ring.

 

“Gibbs,” he answers, voice low and flat.

 

“Gibbs, um...Deputy Ingalls just called the Partons' and they...they woke me up because um...” Tony sucks in a deep breath, “They found Vanessa MacLachlan.”

 

He watches the officers and the volunteers along the shoreline, the body bag being hauled up towards the waiting emergency vehicle, on loan from a larger town. Deputy Ingalls is standing there, looking tired and a little hollow. Everything is frighteningly quiet except the sound of the rain swollen river.

 

“Yeah,” Gibbs sighs, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of a past murder, mentions of death, and a suicide.
> 
> The sex is consensual, though perhaps a little unhealthy.


End file.
